Sacrifices
by Emmithar
Summary: *Set after S2E4* What if Robin actually did drink the poison in order to convince Will to change his mind in saving the sheriff?
1. Chapter 1

**Sacrifices  
**

**By: **Emmithar

**Rating: **T

**Summary: ***Set after S2E4* What if Robin actually did drink the poison in order to convince Will to change his mind in saving the sheriff?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything but my own imagination. The rest belongs to BBC

**A/N: **This is just a short story that's been lingering on my mind, and will be posted in three parts. It is set alone, taking place after Angel of Death in which Robin actually drinks the poison instead of pretending to do so, and the events that follow.

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**Chapter One: I Want Tomorrow  
**

He shouldn't have done it. There had been a voice; it was the little one that everyone had, the one that lived in the back of your head. It had warned him not to do it. Had warned him even before he had thought about it. Funny, how that worked. On how your mind knew that you were about to do something incredibly stupid even before the thought popped into your brain.

But he was never much of an expert in listening. He could remember when he was but a child, when his biggest of worries were figuring out how to wiggle his way out of an early bedtime, on how his mother used to belittle him. It was always about one thing or another; for the life of him he could not even remember what she lectured him about, just that she had. It was something he was born with, cotton stuffed in all his ears and perhaps his head too. Or so his mother always said. That much he did remember, mostly because he spent his nights trying to figure out how to get the cotton out before realizing she had not meant it in a literal sense.

Those times were so long ago…long enough now that the memory did not even seem real. It was difficult for any memory to seem real down here though. Where there was not even the smallest bit of light, and the darkness threatened to choke you if the smell failed in the task. He closed his eyes, hands covering his stomach as another wave of pain came. He thought he would have more time than this…

_People were dying. It was not a pestilence; it was something fiercer than that. A devious deed, no doubt at the hands of the sheriff. The Nightwatchman, the people said. It was his pies…they did not blame him directly. Or her…Marian was the woman beneath that guise. Why would they blame him…her for it? The Nightwatchman had never brought ill fortune before. The food he found, it must have been tainted. _

_Yet Marian was here…a rarity now-a-days. Gisborne and the Sheriff kept her under lock and key, toted like a puppy on a leash, under the watchful eyes of the guards. She may live in the castle, but it was still a prison. She denied her part in it, something he already suspected. If Marian could not even seek privacy inside the castle, it was unfathomable that she would be able to slip out as the Nightwatchman. This made things all the more troubling though._

_If it had been her, they could find a source; discover what was causing all of this mayhem. Now they were lost, grasping at the unknown while more people died. Yet out of all the foul things he had expected, he had never once thought poison. He wasn't sure what he had thought; perhaps that the food had gone bad, or someone had made a poor choice in ingredients, bringing this suffering about. Poison was just too far-fetched. It was too cruel. It was too much like the sheriff. He could have cursed himself for his stupidity._

He could remember that clearly. Coming in at the brink of the moment his men were preparing to sup. He had never intended to fire upon them. But there wasn't enough time; he had no other choice than to pray his aim was true. Afterwards, Joseph had confessed easily, it was more of a brag than anything else. He was proud of his work, despite how cruel and unseemly it was. Where the sheriff found men like Joseph, Robin could not say.

The only satisfaction he had now was that they were safe. All of his men were safe. That made his death worth it all. Already he could feel the fever, the creeping of the chill as the sweat beaded on his brow. He knew quite well how the poisoned worked. He had seen it take the old and the young, before being able to find a cure. It had been a simple chance of fate, but Robin had never been more proud of John than then.

The thought didn't last long and he grimaced, holding his stomach tighter as another wave came. It was as though he believed he could chase it away if he was only strong enough. If there was any truth to that, it would have to happen soon. He was growing weaker with each passing minute.

_It had been Allan's idea on how to get through the barricade and into the castle. The guards did not know the full situation, and Robin believed that they did not even know that there was poison. They did know that Joseph was working for the sheriff however, and none of them were too keen on carrying a dead body riddled with pestilence back to the castle. There had only been one chance at getting through, and Marian, bless her, she had spoken so easily. She was quite good at lying, and it left him to wonder what other fib she had sprouted in the time past. _

_Then it had come to the hardest of all decisions. He blamed himself, most of all. He should have known; Will was fierce when it came to protecting his family. First it had been his mother, bless Jane, she had been a good woman. It had driven Will to thievery, and outlawry, the man trying to compensate his loss with actions that were reckless at best. Now the same had happened. _

_Will would not venture all the way to Scarborough just to take his brother from harm. There was no harm once outside the castle. Luke was old enough make the journey on his own. Robin knew it, and Will knew it as well. If only he had paid more attention to that fact, they would not be here right now. _

'_What do we do if he doesn't come quietly?' _

'_Then you make him.'_

'_But what if he won't?'_

Much…the truest of his friends, a sort of a guardian angel that had followed him through the years. He was his crutch, the one person that could get him through anything, and yet drive him insane at the same moment. There was a reason he loved the man, and Robin suspected that was it. Many people told him that he was too easy on his servants, that he treated them more like playmates than actually serfs. Yet Robin could see no other way.

Much had been the only one that put up with all his hare-brained endeavors. The only one who didn't complain…well, that was not always true. Much liked to complain…he liked to complain often. Yet when it came down to business, Robin would trust no one more than he trusted the man.

He found himself quite lonely then, though the truth of the matter was that he had been so since his arrival in this dreary place. It was just the simple thought, and he could feel the tears brimming in his eyes. If he could have only one wish, it would be to see Much one last time. If only to encourage the man, to give him hope.

Bonchurch was what he had promised him . That promise had yet to come, but right now, right here, Robin did not want him to have it. He wanted the man to take Locksley. He wanted his people to be in good hands, and what better hands than those of his closest friend?

There were more reasons he wanted his friend; they were selfish enough, but he could not deny that he had them.

_He was not being reasonable. Will knew the pact, the deal that was to be had. If the sheriff died…then so did all of Nottingham. Will knew it…Robin knew he knew it. But he also knew it was hard to think logically when one was hurting so. That was why he knew he had to cause another form of pain. It wasn't fair, but at the time it wasn't so much about being fair. It was about doing what needed to be done. _

_Will was expecting many of things more in likely. But never for Robin to charge as he had done so. That was why he was able to get the vial so easily. There was no taste, just as Joseph had said. He would not even be aware that he was drinking something if it had not been for the wetness that slid down his throat. How much he consumed he could not know. It had to be enough, enough to make the other man think._

_And it did make him think. There was still more arguing, Robin trying to plead his point in an angry manner while Will defending his. Robin could understand, did understand. But Will had to understand as well. He didn't get much time. In truth he never expected the poison to work so quickly. It had taken hours for it to work on the villagers after eating, and there had been no telling how long it had taken with the sheriff. Perhaps it was because he had taken it straight, perhaps it was because he had taken far too much. He would never know. _

_First he was collapsing, losing his hold on Will as he went down. But in the next moment he was wrapped in a protective embrace, one that was firm and fierce, more yelling and pleading going on. It had been difficult to concentrate as the poison worked through his veins. _

There was another shiver, a wave of pain as his stomach turned in on itself. It nearly stole the breath from his lungs and Robin found himself on the verge of tears as he tried to banish it all away. He longed for the same warm embrace, the arms that held him before. He knew that he was going to die, but so help him he did not want to die alone. Even if it meant another would have to lose their life, he wanted someone here.

It was more than selfish; it was downright cruel. Cruel that he would wish a similar fate on one of his own for his own desires. Though he wanted to see Much, wanted the man to be here, he could not stand to watch the other die. Could not die knowing that the same fate would befall him. Despite how willing Much would accept it. He was a brave man…far braver than Robin was.

There was also Marian. What he would give to see her one last time. Perhaps there was a chance of that. Her father was down here as well, locked away in the same dungeon far below his timid cell. She would have to cross his path if she were to visit. What would she say? What could she say?

It was better if she did not see him like this. Better if she did not know of his foolish actions. Yet he prayed that somewhere in her heart she would be able to understand why he had done it; why he had to do it. Time was not something that they had a luxury of. He had had to make Will understand, had needed to open his eyes so that he could see…

Will…

_The other man had relented, now more than eager to lead the others to where Djaq was locked away. To get the antidote. Robin knew he would never be able to run that far. The sheriff's quarters were nearby, he would go there. They were reluctant to leave him, and Robin understood why. But he was only one man. If he died his death was not significant. The others would carry on in his place. But the sheriff…the sheriff's death would bring the demise of hundreds. That he could not allow. _

_Once they had gone he struggled to his feet, but collapsed shortly after. His stomach was seizing, twisting painfully as though someone had shoved a dagger inside of him and was twisting it all about. He could barely even crawl. It was no wonder Vaysey and Joseph had been crawling about, mewing like pitiful beasts left to wander the streets without any food. This pain was like anything he had ever experienced. Even worse than when Gisborne had stabbed him in the war._

_He forced himself to crawl, scooting during the times he collapsed, but it wasn't enough. When he heard the footsteps he expected it to be the others. He was going to curse them, demand they see to the sheriff. It was an easy ploy. He would refuse the antidote until they did so. _

_It had not been them. Instead it had been the last person he expected. The Sheriff himself, striding down the hall with a gleeful look on his face. Robin had not been able to even stand, not even able to put on a false pretense as the other had approached. He had laughed, dangling the vial above his head, just out of his reach. _

_The taunting started then, but Robin could not listen. His hopes were failing, perhaps as fast as his body was. If the sheriff had the antidote, then it meant the others were caught. They would not give it up willingly. Now the sheriff would live, and they would die. Because of his own stupidity. At least Nottingham would live. At least they would survive…_

He was crying now, from the pain or the memories he could not say. All he knew was that it was getting hard to breathe. His lungs were fighting for the air, no matter how putrid tasting it was. And his tears did not make it any easier.

The fever was taking a fiercer hold now, chills working his way through his body and leaving him sore. It would be soon…it had to be soon. He did not think he could deal with this much longer. There was no promise of another end. The sheriff had left him in here to rot, had proclaimed that his body would still stay in this very cell long after his death, so that it would provide food for the rats. If he was lucky enough, he would have the pleasure of dying before they began feasting.

He tried to banish the thoughts, focusing instead on the knowledge that he had been wrong. That the others had not been caught. They had made it out alright. It was a comforting thought, giving him the smallest of hopes. Djaq, without a doubt, could make more antidotes. The sheriff's poison would not work anymore with the people, and so had failed in that cruel endeavor. If the others were smart enough, they would teach others how to counteract the poison, and word would spread quickly. No one would have to suffer again like he was now.

And suffering he was. His eyes pressed closed, the fever threatening to overcome him as his stomach tightened all the more. His thoughts were starting to fade, and Robin knew the latest phases of poisoning rendered one thoughtless. He would lose the last bit of his conscious mind, slipping into whatever lay in wait for him beyond this life.

He found himself wondering if there was heaven, if it was like what it was said to be. He wondered if he would find others there; his fallen comrades in battles, friends that had passed on before him…even his parents. Will's father was no doubt up there; Robin could only imagine to what he would say to the other man once they met in the afterlife.

And in turn he would be watching out for the others. Secretly encouraging them to continue, to carry on in his name and fight the evil the sheriff brought about. Someone had to do so, there had to be hope somewhere. All was not lost simply because he was. They had to know…they had to believe.

Had to believe, that they were still Robin Hood. It was the last viable thought he had, welcoming the darkness with open arms as he was lost to the world around him.

**TBC**


	2. A Failed Rescue

**Turns out I sheepishly forgot to thank Kegel for betaing my work last chapter. She did last chapter, as well as this one, so credit goes to her. Thanks for all the reviews! I love hearing your thoughts~!**

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**Chapter Two: A Failed Rescue**

He had never wanted to breathe fresh air more than he did now. Moving from the sheltered corridors of the castle into the streaming sunlight had been alarming, eyes squinting at the sudden change, a hand sheltering the light from reaching his face. It gave him little comfort; they were still far too close to the castle, making it far too easy for the guards that were pursuing to catch them.

The others had the same idea; they had not stopped, nor slowed, and Will was quick to follow them from the steps and into the shadows. They ran, weaving amongst the people, hoping to cause more of a distraction. If it helped he could not say, but in the end they knew they were no longer being pursued.

Coming to a stop he put a hand to his chest, trying to still his racing heart, and convince his lungs to take in the air his body desperately needed. Yet with the coming relief of having evaded capture came an even greater anguish. Not all of them were here. Not all of them had made it out. He turned his gaze back to the castle, worried eyes searching, quiet thoughts praying…no, they were pleading. The man had to have made it out…he just had to…

"You!"

The other man was on him in an instant. Face-flushed, out of breath, and wrought with emotion, Much probably modeled what Will looked like quite accurately. Hands found themselves on his shoulders, fingers digging into the folds of fabric as he was pressed backwards, forced against a wall. Will grasped the other's forearms with a similar strength, trying to disengage himself, but it was to no avail.

"This is your fault!"

"I didn't mean for him to drink it!" he cried in response.

It was the truth. He had no intentions to harm anyone other than the sheriff and his lackey. That was the reason why he had locked Djaq away. He knew in time the others would find her. Knew that she would be safe there. All he needed was to keep her away from the sheriff, to keep the antidote away from the sheriff until the deed was done. But when Robin had grabbed him, when he had stolen away the vial, when he had taken that fateful drink…

"You said you were going to Scarborough! Not to the castle, not to…to…to poison the sheriff! We came to stop you!"

"I had to do it!" he was trying to defend himself. Trying to say anything that would help, but failing miserably. He knew the truth, knew his actions had been out of spite, that killing the sheriff would do nothing for his father. It would not save him, it would not bring him back. Now his own folly had more than likely cost another life.

"After what he did for you, after he saved your life! Your brother's life! This is what you do?!"

The words stung, bitterly so, even as Much was pried away from him. He was aware of what Robin had done, had never forgotten it. The guilt had always been there. If it had not been for his and his brother's part in stealing the flour, perhaps Robin would have never turned to outlawry. The drastic actions taken then, all that time ago, had been out of desperation. The same as these recent ones had been. Desperation; due to something Will had done. Could he do nothing right?

Much was still yelling, John forcing in his own words to try and calm the man. But the former manservant would have nothing at it. He was fighting with a physical prowess that Will had never even known the man to possess. Though it scared him, he could not blame the other. In fact he almost welcomed it; already he felt chilled on the inside, his throat threatening to choke him as it tightened. He had never felt this helpless, this utterly useless.

"We have to find him," he turned to the others, a pleading look on his face. He knew what he was asking, that he was begging them all to risk their lives. It was foolhardy; the sheriff would welcome them with open arms, shortly before killing them all. Will no longer cared; he would gladly give his life, would gladly give himself up to set Robin free.

"We must think," Djaq shook her head, pacing in short, tight circles. Though it was true, Will knew that time was short.

"Bargain me…"

"What good will that do?" Much demanded, breaths coming in fast gasps as he still calmed down from his outburst.

"The sheriff will want me," Will told them, his voice thin. "Trade me for Robin."

"Then the sheriff has both you and Robin," Allan shook his head. "Not going to work."

"It will work; it has to work!" he pleaded. His voice dropped into a whisper then, the pain quite clear. "Please…let me do this."

"No," John said fiercely, a statement backed up by Djaq and Allan as well.

"But we have to do something!"

"We must think," Djaq demanded.

"There is no time!"

"We think!" she stressed once again. "Not thinking is what got us in trouble before. We need a plan."

"I have a plan," Will argued. He was desperate. He would not let Robin die while he was free. If the sheriff did not kill him, the poison would.

"We need a better plan!" she spat back at him, resuming her frantic pacing.

"What can we do?" Much cried out softly. "Even if we get him out…the sheriff has the antidote."

"I can make more," she responded. "It is not difficult. But I will need to find the ingredients. It will take some time."

"How much time do we have?" Will asked, fearful of the answer.

She came to a stop, shaking her head slowly. "I do not know the poison well enough. It hit him quicker than the others, and so I would say less than a day. A full one if we are fortunate. We must work fast, if we are to save him."

"I have an idea," Allan spoke up quietly, meeting the gazes of the others. "I can get him out."

"How?" Will wondered, desperate for any plan, even the most reckless of ones.

"No time to explain, but I will have to go in alone."

"I'm coming," Much started, but Allan was shaking his head.

"No. One of us is better. I can sneak in without being seen. You and the others will have to cause a distraction, draw the guards away. Djaq…how long will it take you to make the antidote?"

"Once I have the ingredients…not long. I will need to return to the forest, prepare it at camp. There are no more supplies here."

"Then we meet back at camp."

"What do we need to do?"

Will was ready for anything, prepared to do whatever was asked of him. But he was not prepared for what came next.

"Come with me," Djaq touched his shoulder lightly.

"What?" he shook his head. He could not leave. Not now, not when Robin needed help the most. "I'm staying."

"You must calm down," she warned him, "and I will need help. We must have the antidote ready for him when they return."

Her words made sense, but that did not make them any easier to bear. How could he argue with what was rational when his mind was being spurred on by pure, raw emotions? He wanted to stay, he wanted to help. It was his fault Robin was in the predicament he found himself in. His fault the man was suffering…that he was dying. And he was supposed to do what? Head back to camp, find safety amongst the trees, and do nothing but wait? He did not think his heart could even handle it.

But the others wouldn't let him stay. That he could see now, in all of their eyes. He felt so pitiful, a creature hardly worth living, the guilt tearing away at him. He could never forgive himself, not for what he had done. Yet the time to tear himself apart would come later. Robin would live…even if it was the last thing he would do.

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He had never seen Much so angry before. The simple fact worried him. If Much was this upset over something Will had not been able to control, what would the man do to him if he ever found out about Allan's betrayal? Surely he couldn't be too upset; after all it was his betrayal that would help them all out in the end. Still the guilt ate away at him. What would he say when they pressed him?

Earlier it had been easy. Easy to claim there was not enough time to explain. Even if he did, they would never believe him. Who would? His plan was foolish, downright suicidal in fact. But there was nothing else he had in mind. And none of the others had any ideas.

The excuse of the distraction was folly. He did not need one in order to slip inside. That was easy. The distraction was more for the others, to keep them all busy, to keep them from following. He would never be able to properly explain himself if anyone did. What would he say, when they found him speaking to Gisborne?

That night he had agreed to the bargain had first been to save his own skin. It granted him his freedom. He had sworn to himself that he would never return. That he would not betray any of the others. The silver he had been given he had kept. There was no way Allan could explain all that had happened to Robin. Certainly not after his outburst that morning. And then there was the knowledge that Robin had been there, the fact the man hadn't come for him, and it still stung. So he had kept the silver, a form of comfort.

But money did not last forever, and soon the bag ran dry. He had told himself he would get more. It was easy to swipe a purse in the crowded market. It was even easier to slip a handful of coins out for himself before dropping it in the pile for the villagers. But it took so long, and all he wanted was a little more…

He had debated over it, had tried to argue that he shouldn't. Then his befuddled mind had convinced him that one time would not hurt. He would only do it once, then be done. A simple comment, something that couldn't really hurt. Yet his efforts had garnered him one measly coin. Hardly enough to do any good. That first time did not count. He needed real gold…

The thought made him ill as he paused in the corridor, Allan wondering how and when it all got out of control. His need for money was more than a desire he realized. It was an addiction; he craved shillings as his body craved food and water. He could not resist it, could not fight against the temptation. As long as his purse was full he could easily argue that it was all over. That he would not go back again. Then he would promise himself that it would be only one more time. He was never much good at keeping promises.

Yet there was one promise he could keep. He was going to get Robin out. They had a deal; Robin was not to be killed. Gisborne would honor that, he had to. Allan had been loyal, had given out one secret after another to keep him and the sheriff ahead. Surely that was worth a single request. If only he had more confidence…

Robin drinking the poison had been unforeseeable. No one had expected him to do such a thing. It was no better than piercing your own flesh with a dagger, opening a wound that would slowly bleed out until you had nothing left. What Robin had been thinking then he could never know. He himself would never do such a thing, but then Allan wondered if that was because he was logical, or if it was because he was selfish.

He had no love for the sheriff. The man had tried to kill him on numerous occasions. Why Robin was fighting so hard to keep the man alive was a concept he could not grasp. He could understand the fate of what would befall the town if the sheriff died. But not that it was funny or anything, but the people could be taken out of the town. You couldn't harm anyone if there was no one there to harm. Why Robin did not see this as a solution was puzzling to Allan. He couldn't change the past however. He could only change the future. And if he was to do so, he had to hurry.

He took to the halls once more, moving with haste as he made his way. His ears strained, listening for anything that might tip him off to potential danger. It would do him no good if he ran into a guard before finding Guy. But the way was uneventful. He came to the last door, his final destination undiscovered, and there he paused, gathering courage for what he was about to do. This would either end remarkably well, or horrendously bad.

He reached up for the door, ready to move on in. Allan half considered knocking, just in case…

"Going somewhere?"

He jumped, completely unprepared. He had taken precautions to not be followed, but that had just been with the others. He had not expected Gisborne to catch him unawares. Slowly he reminded himself to breathe, drawing the hood off his head. It took quite a surprising amount of mustered courage to look the man in the eye.

"We need to talk."

"Oh really?"

At first it seemed like he was going to refuse, but Allan could see then that he was checking the corridors. Slowly Guy nodded, pushing open the door to his chambers and leading Allan inside. He hated to admit how it felt once there. Like he couldn't breathe. There was no way for escape; he tried to keep himself calm.

Gisborne hardly paid him any heed, moving to the table that stood near the wall to pour himself a goblet of wine. He made the slight offering to Allan, but the man shook his head. There wasn't anything his stomach could take at the moment. He felt too ill.

The other man didn't seem opposed by it at all, taking a deep sip himself before turning to face him, resting against the wall. "Well, what is it?"

"Robin," Allan began, swallowing as he was reminding himself once again to keep breathing.

"What? Do you want severance pay? Didn't think you'd find yourself out of a job so soon, did you?"

"We had an agreement."

"Did we?" Gisborne wondered, taking another swallow of wine. His tongue ran the length of his lips after he drew the goblet away, a smile taking place shortly after. "I kept my word, I did not kill him. He managed that one himself. Unless I am inclined to believe you and the others drowned him with the poison yourself."

"He's dead?" the sudden realization struck him hard. They had had less time than anyone had thought. It made him feel even more ill, his knees going weak. It was all he could do to support himself. They were too late. You could save the dying, but there was little you could do for the dead.

"Is, or will be soon," the other said indifferently, shrugging his shoulders. "I did not particularly care to stay and watch the show. I had other matters to attend to. One of them being you. I knew it would not take long before you came crawling back here. Whether you came for Hood or for yourself is what puzzles me."

Gisborne didn't know. That meant there was still a chance. And yet perhaps the man did know, and was only choosing to toy with him. Allan closed his eyes, trying to formulate a plan. He only opened them when Gisborne coughed, catching his attention.

"So, why are you really here?"

"A harmless conversation," Allan replied bitterly, using the same words Gisborne had used on him that first night. "You want more information then I'll give it. But let Robin go. Otherwise our bargain is over."

"It already is over," the other snapped, slamming the goblet down on the table with enough force to cause the carafe to lurch to one side, the contents spilling out onto the floor. If Gisborne saw, he certainly did not care.

"Hood is mine. I've won. Game over. For the rest of you as well; you've served your purpose."

Allan had little time to react, the other man knocking him sideways with a punch before dragging him to his feet. It was all he could do to scamper to his feet before being chocked by his own clothes as the other man ruthlessly pulled him out of the door and into the waiting corridor.

It was no surprise to find guards there. They were never too far from Gisborne. That was the reason they had done their meets outside of the castle, in the safety of the inn. With a forceful shove he found himself pinned between three other, a sword at his throat as he was held securely. Still it did nothing to stop the vehemence in his chest, the angry shout from escaping his throat.

"You can't do this! We had a deal, I kept my word! I gave you information!"

"That was your first mistake, now wasn't it?" Gisborne wondered meekly before grinning. It lasted for only a short time, a more serious expression taking his face then. "Take him to the dungeons. Throw him in with the other."

Allan's struggles renewed as they started to drag him away, the shouts escaping his throat. Accusations rung through the hallways as he fought against the guards, despite the threat of the blade at his throat. Gisborne turned them, slightly amused as he watched him. The guards stopped at his signal, and for the smallest of moments Allan had a little hope.

Gisborne moved to him, stopping a few inches away with a smile. "Just think; if Hood is still alive, then you may just have enough time to beg for his forgiveness. That way when you die tomorrow at the gallows, you'll be free of sin."

The last part was said in mock, Gisborne reaching up to stroke his cheek with a tender graze like a friend would do to another. Allan pulled away, the fury still eminent in his eyes. Even if Robin was still alive, he would die. And Allan would follow the same fate shortly after.

He had been wrong. Things were turning out far worse than he originally had planned.

**TBC**


	3. A Way Out

**Thanks to Kegel for the beta. I said earlier that there would be three parts...well I liked, there will be one more after this. **

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**Chapter Three: A Way Out**

He didn't go easily. Fighting and struggling against every step of the way, Allan had tried every fleeting idea that had come to mind. Bitter accusations spilled from his lips, an attempt to goad the guards that hauled him, trying to find a way to distract them long enough so that he could slip away. Unsurprisingly, his attempts failed.

The floor of the cell broke his fall, Allan scampering round as the door swung shut. He grasped the metal bars in earnest, head resting between the small gaps as he spat out a few more rounds of obscenities. It earned him nothing but a few amused laughs between the guards as they left him there. Moments afterwards he was cast into darkness as the dungeon doors swung shut.

With a sigh he let go of the bars, wounded still from both the way he had been handled, and the ill betrayal. If the betrayer could even be betrayed, that was. Whether he had expected Gisborne to fully honor his initial request he wasn't certain, but there had been a part of him that had honestly expected the man to do something. Even then he felt himself frowning at the notion that something _had_ been done. It was the complete opposite of what he had planned, but even so it had granted him one small favor.

He was able to get to Robin. The man sat in the same cell, situated across the way, supported by the wall. He had not moved since Allan was brought in, had not even indicated that he was aware that he had company. It was almost as if he was…

Allan swallowed, banishing the thought as he crossed the gap between them. Crouching before the other he could feel his breath catch, his heart beating solidly in his chest. In the darkness it was hard to see, hard to tell if the other was still...

Tentatively he reached out, fingers brushing first against his face before sliding down to his neck. His skin was warm to the touch; hot would have been a more appropriate term. He was burning up with fever. But he was alive.

Allan felt his chest loosen, the breath leaving that he hadn't even meant to hold.

"Robin," he whispered, gently shaking the other in an attempt to rouse him. When no response came he repeated the motion, with more ferocity than before.

"Come on, Robs," he pleaded, his voice thin now. "I can't do this alone. You have to wake up."

Sneaking in was Allan's specialty. He knew most of the nooks and crannies that were left unguarded, and he could whip up a lie that would even impress his own mother. But getting out…that he was not so fine at. Getting out… that was Robin's business.

He tried one more time to rouse the sleeping man, only earning a half-mild groan from the other. There was the briefest opening of the eyes, a mixture of hope and relief flooding Allan. It was gone the next moment, eyes closed once more, not even the faintest indications that any real change had taken place.

With a sigh he sat back on his heels, rubbing his forehead, trying to think. Getting out of this cell would be the first step in any operations, but that wasn't very likely. These locks, they were not like the chains and irons used to bind a person, or the locks that were found on chests and such the like. Those he could break open with ease. He had held more than his fair share of practice. But dungeon locks were designed in such a way to prevent that. The sheriff knew that most men that ended up in the dungeons were already thieves and of the like, and would know how to work a simple lock.

The thought caused him to purse his lips, mildly irritated that so many before him had ruined the obviously perfect solution. There was no time to dwell on what couldn't be changed, however. Robin didn't have the luxury of time, and Allan knew that his was probably short as well.

His thoughts wandered then, knowing that the only way to open the lock was with the key. Of course he did not have one on him, only the jailer carrying the set that would allow him to escape to freedom. The jailer, of course, was a giving man. He rather enjoyed his measly job of locking up the prisoners, only allowing them freedom when their time came to walk to the gallows.

He reached up a hand, circling his neck with the slightest of grimaces. There was a definite need to get out of here…and soon. Death was the most common punishment in store nowadays. The sheriff did not much care for the methods of torture held by the jailer, proposing instead on something a little more…permanent. Too much screaming, or so it had been said, and so the cruel practices were only saved for the most pressing of individuals.

Allan couldn't help but smile, knowing the plan was half as crazy as perhaps he was. Moving to grasp the bars he rested his head against them for a moment, calming his racing heart. It would do no good to panic, and he needed to sound confident. When he was ready he took in a breath, letting it out in a single yell.

Whispering to himself he reached the count of ten before yelling once again. He could hear it working, could hear the steps growing near, the snarling grumble that wafted through the hallways. The jailer looked irate, as though just woken from a nap which was very possible. Allan wasn't even certain if the man ever left the dungeons.

"What is it?" he demanded, once seeing that nothing was amiss in the cell. "I've seen you before; Gisborne had fun with you the last time you was down here."

The smile that creased the other's lips was unflattering at best. But one could not dwell on such trifle manners in the situation Allan currently found himself in. He pushed aside the troubling thoughts, letting out a grin of his own.

"Had to be hard for you, considering."

"Considering what?" the other growled.

"Well, you used to be the most feared man in all of Nottingham. Perhaps the most feared jailer in all of England. Every man that came through here, well, they felt your wrath. All those devices, the instruments you used. Yet now…you're not even allowed to touch a prisoner unless the sheriff says so. And when does he do that nowadays, hmm?"

He could see the other man twitch, shifting his weight between his feet, a scowl setting into his features. "Happens far too infrequent," he spat mildly. "The sheriff, he don't like hearing the screams. Don't like the blood. Too messy, too noisy. Well it's my job. Then ever since he came around, there's nothing I get to do. Sit and watch them prisoners. What good is that if I can't even torture them?"

"A shame," Allan shook his head, moving a pace back from the bars. "Well, if I were the sheriff, I'd let you torture anyone in your jail. It only seems fair, after all."

"What would you know?" he asked angrily. "Just a prisoner you are. Hang in the morning, with the other there if he's lucky enough to live. Been waiting for that one for a long time."

Allan nodded, knowing that much was true. Time and time again Robin had been in the hands of the sheriff only to slip free. He was planning on having it happen, at least one more time. He forced himself to shrug then, taking on a placid look. "A shame still. Imagine what people would say, if only they knew."

"Knew what?"

"Well that you had a famous outlaw in your dungeon. And that you weren't even able to lay a finger on him. That you did nothing. Doesn't sound like a high and mighty jailer to me now, does it?"

"I'll tell you something," the jailer responded, coming a step closer. "If I wanted to torture him, I could. There won't be anyone that could stop me."

"Of course," Allan agreed lightly. "You can say that all you want. But who would believe that a jailer, the most feared jailer in all of England, did not want to torture a famous outlaw? You know what they'll say. They'll call you a coward."

"I am no such thing!" the man declared heavily, pulling out his keys with a fumbling hold. "And just for you, I'll give a little show."

No sooner did the man have the keys in the lock that Allan moved. It was easy to reach through the bars. Even easier to grab a fistful of mussed hair, pulling back with a sharp motion. The crack was easy to hear, the thud following shortly after as the man sank to the ground completely unaware. The keys were still in the lock, making it easy to turn, and Allan wasted little time in depositing them in a spare pocket. There was no telling when, or even if, he would need them again.

Quickly he dragged the jailer in, depositing him on the floor before turning to Robin. Removing his own his cloak, he draped it over the still form, before sliding an arm around the man's torso.

"Come on, get up," Allan whispered under his breath as he lifted the man. It was difficult to balance their weight, even more so that Robin wasn't offering any sort of help. He paused here for a moment, situating them so that he could at least make some forward progress. Once out of the cell, he stayed only long enough to close the door behind him. The jailer would be in for quite a surprise when he woke.

The only problem now was getting out of the castle. The dungeons were easy enough. It was rare for anyone other than the jailer to be down there, and that man was already taken care of. Waltzing through the castle corridors and dragging along a half-dead body was only slightly suspicious. The only hope was finding out the quickest way possible.

Taking on a secure hold, Allan started to climb the stairs, hefting Robin along with him. The man was leaning on him heavily, feet dragging on the ground without any real resistance. Like this it was easy to feel the fever that burned in him, and hear his ragged breaths as his body fought to keep breathing. Allan was no physician, and certainly not knowledgeable like Djaq was, but at least he knew that these were good signs. If Robin was still alive, they still had a chance…

"Just do me a favor," he whispered, shifting his weight to press open the dungeon door. "If you're going to die, don't do it here; wait until we get back to camp. If I come dragging you out like that, then the others will think I've done something. You wouldn't want them to be mad at me, now would you?"

He peered out into the hallway then, looking first one way, then the other, before moving out. His gait was slow, much more than he cared for, but carrying another was harder than he had first anticipated. He came to a rest, in a crevice of the corridor, catching his breath as he leaned against the wall.

In the flickering of torchlight he could barely make out Robin's features. Eyes closed, hair matted against his forehead where sweat still ran, his features hid nothing. If the man was aware of the world around him, it was only just so. Perhaps that was a blessing, for Robin at least. For Allan, it was curse and a half. With no idea of where to go, or how he was even going to reach it at this pace, he was struggling with just the very thought of it.

Taking in another breath he nodded to himself, the slightest of encouragements, and wound his arm around Robin once more. The way was quiet, indicating that now was the best time to move. Still he could not stand the silence or the fierce pounding of his heart as he moved along. It caused his mind to wander, to think over what Gisborne had said to him. He frowned, scowling at the thought, shifting weight once again as he came around another corner.

"You know," Allan breathed, keeping his voice low. "Not being funny, but I should be honest. In case this doesn't work out. There are some things I probably shouldn't have done…well, more than just some, but we'll get to those later. What I'm sayin' is, well, what was between me and Gizz…that's gone now. After what he went and did. Can't trust the man, I'm telling you. So no worries, alright? We're square and all?"

There was, of course, no response from Robin, but Allan had to admit he did feel better about confessing. Even if it wasn't a true confession, and he would not garner any forgiveness in that manner. Still, he decided that forgiveness wasn't something needed if one did not truly know about the deed. And he was honest this time. Once given the choice, and seeing where Gisborne had stood in their so called 'relationship', was more than enough to convince the outlaw otherwise.

"No hard feelings…I mean…I know I can't have the both of you. But I didn't want to have to choose between you and Gisborne. It's not like he had anything you didn't…well, there was the silver. He did have that. So I guess you could say it was all about the money."

He came to another stop, nearly out of breath. Where they were now he could not say, thankful only that they were still alone. He turned and glanced at the other man with a bit of a frown. "Not the conversational type, are we?"

Again there was no response. He expected none, but perhaps he was merely trying to fool himself. False hopes, as Robin would call it. Part of him was thankful the man was unconscious; there was no telling what he would do if he truly knew of Allan's betrayal. This was a secret that would be left behind them in the castle. There would be no more switching of sides. He would be honest, and loyal from now one .

"I swears," he whispered, "just let me get him out of here alive, and I promise I will never cheat again."

That was about as close to a prayer as he had ever said. He was fully convinced that if he made it, he would turn to religion and instate himself as a monk in the abbey. Allan couldn't help but smile when he saw the opening, letting out the slightest of breaths as he moved towards it. Perhaps becoming a monk would be overdoing it just a bit. After all, Robin would still need his help, and he couldn't just abandon his friends, now could he?

With renewed vigor, he moved across the hall, slipping inside the room hurriedly. Thus far they hadn't been seen, but Allan was not certain how much longer that luck would last. The further they went into the castle, the more chances that they would be caught. And he could not fight while supporting Robin. This here…this was a bit of salvation. A rancid one at that. A privy was not the most welcome of escape routes, but it did lead outside.

"Well Robs, if you have any better ideas, I'm all ears," Allan stated, gagging on the slight smell. It would only be worse down at the bottom. "Take your time, we're in no hurry."

There would be no response. He had kind of figured that one on his own. But this route of escape wasn't one he wanted. Still, it was one that was assured. He would risk that rather than walking the halls unarmed. Robin would understand, would probably vote for it as well if he were awake.

He laid Robin down, keeping a single hand on him as he sat on the side, legs dangling over the edge. It was hard enough to do this on your own, but this time he would have company. Robin couldn't very well get himself down, and Allan wouldn't just leave him behind. Taking a few breaths he pulled the other man up, holding him against his chest as he closed his eyes.

Whether he screamed or not he couldn't be sure. It was a rather involuntary action when one was falling. But Allan knew all too well what lay in wait at the bottom and did not care to sample it anymore than he must. Still, he somehow managed to get some in his mouth. An amazing feat for one who was determined to keep his mouth shut all the way down.

He stood up, thigh deep in the sludge, sputtering, trying in vain to wipe his mouth clean. It covered his hands, his face, and anything he tried to do didn't provide any help. Still he shook, shaking his hands in the air in an attempt to fling off the filth, at the same time trying to convince himself that he could in fact breathe despite the smell. It was the strangest of feelings though, almost like he had forgotten something…or somebody.

"Robin?!"

He seized the other man, pulling him to his feet. With a sleeve he tried to wipe away the gunk, succeeding more in smearing it than anything else. He had taken the worst of the fall, which was only to be assumed. Almost completely coated in filth it was hard to imagine how the man could even stand it. Allan only grimaced, assuming the former position and starting to move through the sludge.

"You are so lucky you are not awake for this," he muttered dryly, trying to keep his breaths shallow. It was bad enough to smell it, but the stench hung so heavily in the air it was as though one could taste it as well. That, or there still was some of it lingering in his mouth. He spat at the thought, trying to hurry the gait if only a little. It was difficult to move, and he did not want to fall.

Ahead he could see the light, indicating a way out, and perhaps fresh air. Both of which he needed, and desperately. Not only that, but Robin needed help, help that only Djaq could provide. The man was not responding at all, though Allan could still feel the fever radiating from him, telling him that he was still very much alive, but at this pace, it was only questionable how long he would stay so.

Allan's only hopes now were that he could find the others, and return to camp in time. Robin just had to do him the favor to hold out long enough.

**TBC**


	4. Home

**Sorry about the wait! Works has kept me busy as has the coming holiday seasons. Let me know if you are still reading!**

**Thanks to Kegel for not only the beta, but her inspiration in finishing this story. **

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**Chapter Four: Home**

It wasn't easy to wait. To hide amongst the shadows, safe from harm while one of their own teetered between life and death. Every second that passed by was one that was lost, and for a time they neither saw nor heard from Allan. John had begun to fear that they would have to rescue the rescuer. And if that had been the case…Robin may not even be alive.

Yet when John and the others were ready to go in, to search the castle in hopes of bringing about an answer, Allan was spotted. Finding them had brought everyone much relief, and yet more worry. It did not matter to their attire, although Allan had apologized breathlessly as John gathered Robin into his arms.

A trine of horses had been their salvation. Indeed after their earlier distraction had allowed Allan to slip in unnoticed, John and Much had busied themselves preparing to flee. If they were to be successful, they would need speed behind them.

Much and Allan had taken to their own steed, John keeping a hold on Robin as he had mounted his own. Leaving behind Nottingham had been a blessing, the trees of Sherwood an encouraging sight as they moved closer to their goal. Within the trees they abandoned the horses, giving them the ability to cut through the foliage using the narrow paths and saving precious time.

Still, the nervousness between them all was amplified by the worry they felt. For John it felt little more than carrying a departed man back to his family. There was hardly any indication that Robin was even still alive, and more than once he found himself stopping, lifting the man's head near his ear as he bent, if only to hear the soft breaths. Each time he did so, it sent Much into a panic. The other man would remind him harshly that they couldn't stop. At one point he had even physically grabbed a hold of John , and pulled him along.

They sped through the trees, as quick as their steps would take them, encouraged by the coming sight of the hill that led to camp. Allan trailed behind, taking note of any possible followers, obscuring their trail as they went. Entering camp they were met with the same worry they felt. Will stood at one side, face pale and hardly moving as John lowered their leader to the ground. Where he left off, Much took over without question.

There was no hesitation, the man gathering up his former master in his arms, filth and all, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He chattered on, quiet words as though the man was awake, and could hear. John didn't have the heart to tell Much otherwise. What little hope they did have, it had to be enough. It had to help.

Djaq was at their sides now, fingers seeking out a pulse, her hand monitoring Robin's fever. It was difficult to read her expression, and she said nothing in response to Much's question. After the pause had come and gone, his voice had grown more worried, escalating as she turned away.

"You do have it ready? You said that you would. He will be alright."

The last part had been said in statement, with no hint of questioning lingering in his voice. Djaq's concentration was on the bowl at her feet. The flames of the fire danced in the approaching dusk, light playing over her features and casting an eerie glow about her. It felt as though they were trapped in a dream, of something that could not be real. She had said less than a day…and that time was almost up.

Though he didn't agree with it, John could understand why Robin had done it. He had been trying to protect the people…had been trying to protect Will. The other man still stood at the other side of the camp, mouth hanging open ever so slightly, the marks on his eyes betraying the fact that his time had been spent shedding tears. Robin had been trying to protect him…but at the same time he had hurt the very man he had been trying to save.

"We should give him more than the others," Much spoke hurriedly as Djaq moved back to them. "We should give him a lot, just in case…to be safe."

"Too much, and it will kill him," she warned him. The bowl now sat at her feet, the liquid dancing on the tips of her fingers. She paused, steadying herself.

"Come on! What are you waiting for?!" Much cried, trying to urge her along.

She nodded then, finger tracing over Robin's lips, pulling back shortly after. There was no change, the air between them so still that it felt as though time itself had come to a halt. Much shook his head, trying to deny it, his soft cries weighing all of them down.

"More, give him more! It didn't work, you have to try again!"

"It will only kill him faster," she breathed as she moved back. The utter helplessness in her voice wrung John's insides so that there was nothing left. Even his heart felt as though it was failing. He gripped his staff tighter, the wood blemishing his hands from the pressure. This was not how it was supposed to end. It was not a good day to die.

They could afford to lose any of them. But they could not afford to lose Robin. They were nothing without him. They were not Robin Hood, as the man had once tried to convince them. It was Robin who came up with the plans, Robin who saw them through. And it was Robin who was now dying in the arms of his best friend.

What would they do without him? What would they be? There were only six of them, against an army that was slowly being brought together, the Black Knights. They would kill the king, take over England perhaps, and the suffering they saw today would be a minor blemish in comparison to what might actually come. John hung his head, trying to come to terms with all that was happening.

The first time he had met Robin had not been on the best of terms. An outcast of Locksley, he had hardly recognized the lord when he had trapped the man in the forest. When he did learn of the man's true heritage he had taken it upon himself to drag the newly exiled man back to Locksley. He had never planned on one day following the man. Had never planned on being friends. That was something that had simply happened. And now all of that was going to be lost…

There was a shout then, a bit of a clamor and the man glanced up to where Much still held their leader. At first he feared the worst, that the time had finally come. They had brought him all this way, had risked their lives, only for the man to die in the end. At least he was home, surrounded by the people that were more or less his own family. He saw it then, just the slightest of movements, before his vision was blocked entirely as Djaq moved back in.

In hurried paces he found himself closer than he had been before, watching as the Saracen trailed her hands down the archer's face, speaking to him quietly. The man managed a groan, opening his eyes only slightly, a pale white in comparison to his face that was still splattered with a generous layer of muck. His expression was dull, a vast array of confusion as he glanced around at his companions, each face holding a magnitude of relief.

He coughed then, Robin scrunching up his face as he closed his eyes, like a sudden thought that had caught up with him all too late as he buried his head in the front of Much's tunic. The man had yet to let him go, still cradling him in a protective embrace. There was nothing said on his part, but Djaq sat back on her heels, a soft expression lining her features.

"He will be fine."

It was as if a great weight had been lifted from him. The sighs could be heard around the camp, the breaths of relief escaping into the air. There was something murmured then, sounds barely heard but it was enough to catch all of their attention. Much still held Robin close, but the archer's lips were moving, trying to form words in-between heavy breaths and a few erratic coughs.

"What is that smell?"

It was weakly said, Robin reaching up with one hand to wipe at his face. From his side Allan let out the softest of chuckles, timidly pressing the toe of his boot into the dirt. "Well…it's a long story really…"

* * *

Reality wasn't something he fully grasped. It was lingering on the edges of his mind, within reach but never fully there. At first Robin was sure he was dreaming. How could one survive something such as this? The poison was meant to kill, and it already had been far too long. How his men ever managed to get him out was beyond his comprehension. All he did know was that he wasn't inclined to move.

Never before had he felt so safe; held locked in an embrace that wasn't willing to let him free, he did not mind the contact. It reminded him that he was alive; that we he was indeed safe. The happenings that had taken place earlier nothing more than simple memory, like a nightmare fading from conscious thought.

He must have fallen asleep again. Memory wasn't on his side, but he noted the passing of time. And that when he woke he was wrapped in blankets, stretched out on his own bed within the walls of the camp. He lay quietly for a time, unsure of what it was that had woken him. The others were sleeping; he could hear their steady breaths, easing in and out in different times. A sound he had thought for a time he would never hear again. Convincing himself that nothing was out of place he closed his eyes, his body still desperate for rest despite the amount he had already slept. It was like a fever, sapping his strength as his body battled with everything it had gone through in the passing day. Then he heard it again.

This time he was certain. He was not the only one awake. And the other was moving. He could feel the wind, the breeze slipping through an open crack. It was gone in the next moment, something that was enough to prompt him to move despite how little he wanted to. It was hard at first, stiff and sore from being confined for so long, but he took care to move quietly, not wanting to disturb any of the others. Surely if they caught him now they would never let him rest. True, he was grateful for what they had done, but Robin knew they could sometimes be a bit too overprotective.

He followed through the same small opening, stretching his legs with more ease once outside, the leaves crunching beneath his steps as he followed the other form. Robin crossed his arms as he moved, trying to stave away the chill and wishing for a moment that he had with him a heavier jerkin, but not willing to risk going back in and waking the others. He also wasn't willing to lose sight of the other. The man wasn't moving fast, and it would have been easy for Robin to stop him then, to reason with the other. But it wouldn't work. If caught tonight he would try again. The man would wait, bide his time until it was convenient. Then Robin would not be able to do anything to convince him otherwise.

Keeping his distance he followed the other. It was easy to do so, despite the night that shrouded them in a dismal darkness that was hard to see through without the aid of a torch. The paths they used were well known, they had to be in order to enable them a safe escape in the time of need. It was one particular path the man kept to, Robin doing the same, catching fleeting glances of the other when the moon dared to shine.

It was when they reached the road that the first came to a stop, glancing one way and then the other as if trying to decide which route to take. Robin slowed his pace, coming to a rest next to a tree as he watched him. He presumed the other would make up his mind soon, or at least hoped he would. It was getting colder out, and moving was about the only thing that was keeping him warm. And awake…

"Do you think Luke went back to Scarborough?"

The question surprised him. He had thought that Will hadn't noticed him. But it was a silly notion, for he had taught all of his men to be observant. With a simple shrug he moved closer, taking a long look down the road as it faded away into the night.

"Do you think he needs a keeper?"

Will was silent for a moment, his head hanging in a shameful expression. "I don't know where else to go. He is the only family I have left."

"What about us?" Robin inquired, nodding his head back towards the camp. The man glanced in the direction, but turned away quickly.

"I can't stay…not after…" he shook his head, unable to finish.

"You did the right thing, Will."

"I nearly killed you!" he cried, the color draining from his face at the remark. He paused a moment, gathering his breath then. "How is that the right thing?"

"The sheriff lived, didn't he?"

"Yes…but that…"

"Has everything to do with it," Robin nodded towards him before the other could continue. "You know what would have happened if he died."

There was a nod after a moment, the man's voice quiet when he spoke next. "I also know what would have happened if you died."

"The rest of you would have carried on, together," he emphasized.

This was something they had already discussed. The stakes were rising, and each and every passing day they found themselves in situations that were more pressing, that were deadlier. It was only logical to assume that one day, not everyone would make it to the end. He didn't expect them to be happy with that decision, but he did expect them to honor it.

"You should have seen him, Much, I mean," Will responded, turning to look at him. "He was ready to kill me with his bare hands. Part of me wished that he would. I couldn't live knowing that I had been responsible for…for what had happened."

"That choice was mine," Robin reminded him firmly.

"A choice you made because of me. To make me prove that I still believed in the right thing. That's what you said."

"And you do."

Will shook his head, "No, Robin. That's the point. If I did…if I believed in it…then you wouldn't have had to do that. I would have…I don't even know what the right thing is anymore. Are we doing the right thing here? Are we even making a difference, or are we just prolonging false hopes?"

"Hope is what keeps us strong. Every day, we hope we have enough food to feed the hungry so they do not starve, or that we have enough money to give to the poor, so that they can pay taxes and stay home with their families. Most of all, we hope that with every day, word of the king's return will come through. To put an end to this madness. Hope is all we have, Will. If you give up on that, then there isn't anything left."

There was nothing said in response, leaving Robin to wonder if his words had affected the man at all or if he was simply trying to find another way to argue for his departure. Things would not be the same without him. He let out a sigh, reaching out with a hand and placing it on Will's shoulder.

"Come back to camp. I did not follow you all this way just to wish you well."

"I do not know if I can. The others…they wouldn't want me there. I can't blame them."

"I want you there," he stressed, keeping a firm hold on the other. "And I would like to get back to sleep. You can save us both the trouble and come back with me now. Or you can keep going on your own, forcing me to return to camp and wake up everyone so that we can drag you back. It's probably wise to not make everyone angry with you for a second time within a single day."

He said nothing for a moment, leading Robin to believe his ploy had failed. If Will did not come then he may just have to wake the others. Perhaps it would just be easier to knock the man out, and carry him back to camp…

To his relief the other nodded, clasping a hand over his own before moving. "As long as you promise to not do anything like that ever again."

"No worries there," Robin pursed his lips at the memory.

"I'm serious. You had us all worried…"

"Trust me, doing that once was more than enough for me," he grinned, falling into step beside the other. "But if I have to do that again, then I will. So do not give me any reason to do so."

"That's a fair enough bargain."

It was good, he decided, despite the weariness, the chill that was creeping up on him, and the painful reminders that were all still too fresh. He had his friends that were more of a family, and all of them were safe. And soon…very soon, he would have his nice warm bed back.

And maybe a bowl of Much's stew…

**The End**


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